Roadside Attractions

Thirty-Three

TORONTO, ON

Once again, I find myself as a ball of agitation in the back of an Uber, heading toward Campsie Street.

There’s still a crippling sense of fear in the back of my mind—of the unknown, of what the future holds. The fear that if we go down this road, it will do more damage than good.

It’s taking everything in me to shove that all aside and open myself up to the hand outstretched toward me.

I could’ve chosen to behave like a normal human being and told Wyatt I was on my way over, or even asked if he wanted to see me at all. Instead, I’ve chosen to show up without notice yet again, asking him to take me wherever he’s going, because at this point, God knows I’d follow him anywhere.

Swallowing, I smooth out the skirt of my dress. I’m grateful I chose to wear this one today. It does feel lucky, a tangible piece of our recent history.

There’s a part of me that thought my desire for him would fizzle out the longer we spent apart, like a candle reaching the end of the wick, dissipating into smoke. But it continues to crackle to life, burning brighter and stronger than ever. I don’t think I could ever stop wanting him, even if I tried.

The car slows to a stop outside of his house, and I suck in a breath. I thank the driver before exiting into the late summer heat, the sun beating down on my shoulders. For a second, I stare at the house, briefly tempted to dive into the bushes next to the porch. That will always be my backup plan.

Instead, I square my shoulders, climbing the rickety stairs, hit with that same weed smell from the upstairs neighbours. It feels like I’ve travelled back in time to four weeks ago, before I knew what I know now.

I raise my fist to knock on the door. It swings open before I even make contact, and I briefly wonder if I’m in some sort of Groundhog Day situation.

But it’s not Wyatt at the door this time.

A white guy with floppy brown hair blinks at me in confusion, holding the door open. I blink back at him, my lips parting. I’ve seen Wyatt’s roommate Ryan before, and this most definitely isn’t him. I take a step back, scrambling for an explanation.

“Hello,” he says slowly, eyes narrowing. “Can I help you?”

My voice returns to me. “Is Wyatt home?”

His head tilts to the side as he sizes me up, before his lips pull into a knowing smile. “Ah. Are you Stella?”

I blink again. “Um, yeah.”

He folds his arms across his chest, leaning against the doorframe. “So you’re the one I had to listen to Wyatt yap about the whole way home.”

Heat invades my cheeks, and my eyes widen, feeling a wash of embarrassment. At the same time, his words send my butterflies into a frenzy. “Oh. I’m. . . sorry?”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “Only good things.” He extends a hand for me to shake. “I’m Jake, Wyatt’s second choice for a travel buddy. Second to you, of course.”

I shake his hand with a laugh. “I wasn’t always his first choice.”

“Oh, trust me,” he says dryly, lifting an eyebrow. “You were. ”

The heat spreads to my collarbone, and I push my curls behind my shoulder, needing to feel the breeze on my skin before I melt into a puddle. I don’t know how to respond to that.

“Anyway, Wyatt’s here.” Jake turns to look over his shoulder, leaning back into the house to call out, “You have a visitor!”

Wyatt’s voice comes from somewhere inside the house, muffled and confused. “What?”

Jake waits in the doorway, looking as though he’s suppressing a grin with great difficulty, and my skin begins to hum with anticipation. I really should’ve given him a warning. Showing up out of the blue adds an extra layer of suspense that I do not need right now.

Moments later, Wyatt appears at the entrance.

The minute his gaze lands on me, I feel like I’m being burned alive.

Time seems to come to a shuddering halt. I barely even register Jake moving out of the way as Wyatt’s dark eyes widen, fixating on me, drinking in every inch of me, keeping me for himself. His lips part, shoulders going slack, and his beauty punches me in the chest, leaving me breathless.

It hasn’t even been that long in the grand scheme of things, but he’s still better than I remember. Sharper, clearer, the only thing I can focus on. Seeing him brings ghost sensations to the surface—the feel of his lip between my teeth, his hands on my skin, his fingers running through my damp hair. The way the space between us always seems to crackle with energy.

“Stella.” He says it like a prayer, like relief, like gratitude.

And it feels like coming home.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Jake says lightly, dipping back into the house, but not before sending me a wink. It temporarily snaps me out of my Wyatt-induced daze, enough to make me aware of my surroundings once more—of the humid, sticky, Toronto summer air, of my dress beginning to plaster itself against my thighs.

“I should’ve told you I was coming,” I say, fidgeting with my fingers, suddenly nervous again. “Were you guys in the middle of something? ”

“I can’t remember,” Wyatt says, unbothered. He closes the door behind him, coming to stand across from me on the porch. His eyes still haven’t left my face. “It’s good to see you.”

I don’t think I can even express in words how it feels to see him. “Good” is a major understatement.

“I’m sorry for pushing you away,” I murmur, feeling my eyebrows pull together. “I know I asked for space, but it’s been killing me not to talk to you. I wanted to reach out so many times, but I just. . . I psyched myself out. I got stuck in my own head.”

Wyatt straightens out, taking a step toward me. “Stella—”

I hold my hands up to stop him. “Wait,” I say. “I’m the one with a speech this time. Please let me get it out before I lose my nerve.”

His mouth twitches. He leans against the porch railing, waiting for me to continue.

I take another deep breath to try to quell the torrent of emotions inside me. When I open my eyes again, they meet his firmly. “I’m not good at this stuff,” I admit. “Being vulnerable and laying it all on the table. But that’s the thing about you—you challenge me. You make me want to try new things, to be a version of myself I didn’t even know existed before you. You make me want to be the person you see when you look at me.

“This entire summer has been such a roller coaster, and most days, I’m convinced it’s all been a dream. But never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined you.” My confidence grows the longer I speak, but my heart rate still hasn’t settled, wild and uncontrollable, leaping from my chest. “I wish I had your eyes so I could’ve seen in us what you saw from the beginning. Despite how long we’ve known each other, I feel like you crashed into me. And now I don’t want to go back to what my life was before you.”

Wyatt’s mouth opens, before he remembers that I’ve asked him not to speak, and he swallows his words.

I take another steadying breath, trying to remember everything I want to say, the words I’ve practiced repeatedly in my head. “We’re completely different. You’re everything I’m not, and that’s my favourite thing about you. I love how you make every place feel like home and turn every stranger into a friend. I love that you’re like the sun, that I feel like I’m on fire around you after spending most of my life in the cold.

“I don’t think you understand just how fucking scary this is for me. Opening myself up to something like this is terrifying. I lay awake at night thinking about everything that could go wrong, the things I could regret. But that’s another thing about you—you don’t just encourage me to dive into the unknown. You dive with me. And I know the only thing I’ll regret for the rest of my life is missing the chance to tell you that I’ve fallen in love with you.”

The words hang in the air, the world stilling. My chest rises and falls as though I’ve just run a mile. We stare at each other for several beats, and there’s a softness to Wyatt’s eyes that makes me want to climb inside of them, where I’ll be warm and safe.

When he remains silent, doubt trickles back in, and the bushes look extremely appealing. “Feel free to jump in at any time,” I urge.

Wyatt suppresses a smile. “I’ve been waiting patiently for my turn.”

I scoff, gesturing with my hand. “Please, by all means. Put me out of my misery.”

Slowly, he steps toward me, the tangible gap between us buzzing as he closes it. “Stella Jane,” he tuts, fingertips finding my waist. I relax into his touch. “The fact that there’s any part of you that doubts I’m not completely and utterly in love with you means I haven’t made myself clear, so let me try again.” He levels me with a serious look. “ I am in love with you . I have been since day one. I didn’t spend four years pushing your buttons just for the hell of it.”

I glance at him dubiously. “Are you sure? Seems like you had a little too much fun with that part.”

His mouth splits into my favourite grin. “Okay, yeah, I enjoyed that. But that’s because it was the only way to make this gorgeous, ferocious, intelligent, sharply funny girl pay any attention to a clown like me.” His hands settle more firmly on my waist, tugging me toward him, and I place my palms on the planes of his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “A few weeks of silence could never make what I feel for you disappear.”

I look away bashfully, feeling embarrassed .

Wyatt brings a hand to my chin, guiding my eyes to his face. “I know you’re scared,” he murmurs. “But you don’t have to be, because I’m right there with you. I’ll fall with you, dive with you, crash with you, go to fucking outer space with you if you ask. Anything you want. If you let me into your heart, I’ll make a home there. I won’t ever let it go.”

The last of my nerves melt away, replaced by a warmth that seeps into every inch of my bloodstream. I scan his face, and every part of it screams with want, with trust, with love. Reaching up, I coil my finger into his hair. “You already have it,” I murmur.

My words barely have a chance to breathe before his lips crash into mine. His arms encircle me, crushing me to his chest, and I loop my arms around his shoulders so we’re flush, puzzle pieces sliding together. This kiss feels like a million unspoken words and memories transferring between us, promises made and kept.

I trust him, I love him, I want him.

Every ounce of tension leaves my body as his tongue meets mine. All of my worry and doubt feels so silly now. Wyatt has never tried to hide his feelings, never taken them back, never given me any reason not to believe them. He’s just been waiting for me to be ready to accept them, to accept what we have.

I’m ready now—to fall, to dive, to crash.

He pulls away, leaning his forehead against mine. “You had me worried for a second there,” he admits, “when I didn’t hear from you. But now here you are on my doorstep yet again, wearing that dress, as if you hadn’t already tortured me enough.”

A smile toys with my lips. “Luck was on my side when I put on this dress today. It gave you an extra incentive.”

“All the incentive I need is right here,” he says before kissing my lips softly. “And as much as I love this dress, I wouldn’t mind seeing it on my floor right about now.”

Want shoots through me like a livewire. “I think that could be arranged.” I stand on my tiptoes, reaching up to kiss him again, before a new voice makes me freeze in my tracks.

“So sorry to interrupt,” Jake says, lifting a hand in an awkward wave, and I take a step away from Wyatt, immediately embarrassed. “ But, uh, I’m gonna be late to the airport.”

It’s then that I notice the duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

Wyatt merely blinks at him for a moment, dazed. Then, realization floods his features as he lets go of me completely. “Oh, shit. Fuck.” He points to me. “Hold that thought.”

Jake stifles a snort, heading toward the Toyota as Wyatt ducks inside, scrambling for his keys and wallet. “Nice meeting you, Stella,” Jake calls over his shoulder.

“You too,” I say, unable to keep the laughter from my voice. I feel giddy, hopeful, and scandalized, like a teenager who just got caught with her crush. But I don’t care. I do have a crush.

Wyatt comes back outside, placing his hands on either side of my face, giving me one last voracious kiss that practically knocks the wind out of me. He pulls back, dark eyes scanning my features, playful and serious all at once in a way only Wyatt Song can pull off.

“Wait for me, okay?” he asks.

After how long he’s waited for me, the least I can do is return the favour.